Darcey Watson: A Study in Pink
by Stripedkit
Summary: A re-write of A Study in Pink with my OC Darcey Watson part One in a so far 10 part series read how the story changes with Darcey at the reins.
1. Chapter 1

**A Study in Pink: Chapter One **

_It was chaos. The sounds of gun fire, sounds of grenades going off and the cries of the wounded filled the air. The smell of death and blood filled John's nose as he and his men of arms moved through the fields of Afghanistan. Leaning over one of the wounded soldiers body John tried to stem the blood flow from the gunshot wounds that littered the man's chest. Out of nowhere an agonizing pain spread through his shoulder as a loud gunshot echoed through his ears. His friends cried out his name as he fell over the solders body and…_

He jolted awake sweat trickling down his brow. Sitting up wide-eyed and breathing heavily the feeling of all the air from his lungs had been sucked from his body. As John tried to calm his breathing he flopped back onto his pillow, and unable to stop himself, he began to weep out his frustrations.

After an hour of rolling around in his bed John sat up on the side and switched on the bedside lamp. It was still dark outside and as John sat there quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, he looked across to the desk on the other side of the room. His life now was boring, repetitive. Nothing ever changed in his life. Was this to be his life from now on? A never ending, repeating journey? His eyes fell on his cane and sighed. The constant reminder of his former life. He hated it, like he hated his leg, psychosomatic or not.

As the morning sun filled the room John, hobbled across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand he had a mug of tea and an yellow apple, placing them down onto the desk. The mug bore the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down at the desk, John opened the top drawer to get his laptop. As he lifted the computer out of the drawer a shiny pistol was revealed but he didn't look at it at all as he shut the drawer. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looked at the webpage which had automatically loaded. It read, "The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson". That was the only thing written on the page the rest was blank.

Two arms wrapped around Johns neck snapping him out of his case of writers block barley able to suppress his reflexes he opened his top drawer and pulls out his pistol turning off the safety pin but before he turned to face his attacker he realizes who held him in there arms. "Darcey…" John signs clipping the safety back in place and put the gun back in the drawer.

"Were you really going to shoot me big brother" Darcey's childish voice chimed into his ears.

Turning his head looking at the tall girl behind him "Maybe" John chuckled smiling at his little sister.

"Awe that hurts me right here…" Darcey pouted clasping her hands over her heart.

"Darcy…" John started holding his arms out to her. Skipping forward she situated herself onto his lap. Grunting under the sudden weight John allowed himself to look at the sister he hadn't seen since he was deployed to Afghanistan.

She didn't look very different she had her long blond hair pulled up into a high ponytail; her figure eight glasses still brought attention to her bright green eyes. She even still held the same taste in clothes and was still wearing simple dresses with floral designs.

"Hey do you need a ride to your stupid therapist." Darcey sighed resting her head on his shoulder.

"Ella is not stupid" John retorted ignoring the detail that he had never told her that he was seeing a therapist.

"Ella is it. She better be drop dead gorgeous if you're paying her for that crap that you call therapy" Darcey smiled.

"Darcey…" John began.

"John your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. But truthfully you just miss it." Darcey boldly stated.

"Wait how did you…" John started before coming to the realization sighing John continued "Let's just go would you mind leaving while I get dressed" ignoring the truth in her statement.

"So what it's nothing I haven't seen before" Darcey laughed her smile widening.

"Darcey!" bellowed John his cheeks burning at the implication.

"We were little kids it's nothing to be embarrassed about" Darcey giggled jumping off Johns lap and running from the room slamming the door behind her just in time as John threw his pillow after her.

Later he is at his psychotherapist's office and he sits in a chair opposite her.

"How's your blog going?" Ella started.

"Yeah, good." John started clearing his throat awkwardly. "Very good."

You haven't written a word, have you?" Ella retorted.

John pointing to Ella's notepad on her lap "You just wrote "Still has trust issues"."

"And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean?" Ella replied pointing the end of her pen at him.

John just smiles at her awkwardly unable to respond.

"John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you." Ella said calmly.

John gazes back at her, his face full of despair replying. "Nothing happens to me."

**AN: Hello my amazing readers this story is going to be about 1X01 its going to be a series of so far 10 episodes **

**My OC is Darcey Watson **

**So please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

OCTOBER 12TH.

At a busy London railway station a well-dressed business man walking across the station is busy talking into his mobile phone. "What d'you mean, there's no ruddy car?" Sir Jeffery spoke loudly into his phone.

His young beautiful secretary named Helen is at his office talking into her phone as she walks across the room. "He went to Waterloo. I'm sorry. Get a cab."

"I never get cabs." He jokes

Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly into the phone. "I love you."

"When?" Sir Jeffrey spoke suggestively.

Giggling Helen said "Get a cab!"

Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.

Sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many storey's above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid as he puts the capsule into his mouth.

Writhing on the floor in agony. Sir Jeffrey dies alone.

At a police press conference flanked by a police officer and another man, Sir Jeffrey's wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.

Margaret Patterson reading tearfully from her statement "My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him."

Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.

NOVEMBER 26TH.

Two boys in their late teens are running down a street at night in the pouring rain. Gary has opened a fold-up umbrella and is trying to keep it under control in the wind, while Jimmy has his jacket pulled up over his head. He calls out in triumph as a black cab approaches with its yellow sign lit to show that it is available for hire.

"Yes, yes, taxi, yes!" He whistles and waves to the taxi but it drives past. He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking round at his friend. "I'll be back in two minutes, mate."

"What?" says Gary annoyed.

"I'm just going home; get my mum's umbrella." Jimmy yelled back.

"You can share mine!" Gary yelled after him.

"Two minutes, all right?" Jimmy called back walking away.

Gary looking down at his watch, worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.

Sitting on a window ledge inside a sports centre overlooking a sports court. Jimmy crying and clutching a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs.

The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline "Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre".

JANUARY 27TH.

At a birthday party a large poster showing a photograph of the guest of honor is labeled "Your local MP, Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport". As pounding dance music comes from inside the room, one of Beth's aide's walks out of the room and goes over to her male colleague who is standing at the bar. He looks at her in exasperation. "Is she still dancing?" he says.

"Yeah, if you can call it that." The woman snidely comments

"Did you get the car keys off her?" The man asks showing his concern for Beth.

Showing him the keys the woman says "Got 'em out of her bag."

The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns. "Where is she?"

Beth standing at the side of her car searching through her handbag for her keys. She sighs when she can't find them and looks around helplessly.

Beth sobs hysterically as she stands inside a portacabin on a building site. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.

At a police conference Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable as his colleague sitting beside him flashes from the cameras illuminate the room as Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters sternly. "The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

The reporters all frantically begin to raise their hands some not even waiting to be called upon begin asking questions "Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" the first reporter asks.

Lestrade begins awkwardly "Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...

The first reporter interrupts "But you can't have serial suicides."

"Well, apparently you can." Lestrade states firmly.

"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" The next reporter asks.

"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." Lestrade tries to calm the media.

Everybody's mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads: Wrong!

Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone saying frantically "If you've all got texts, please ignore them."

"Just says, 'Wrong'." The first reporter says confused.

"Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." Donovan trying to ignore the text.

The second reporter asks his next question "But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?"

"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ..." Lestrade says awkwardly clearly distressed.

Everybody's mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads "Wrong!"

"Says, 'Wrong' again." The first reporter says again getting slightly annoyed.

Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally and she says to the reporters to calm them "One more question."

A third reporter asks her question in a ear bleeding voice "Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

"I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered."

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?" the third reporter stoking the fire.

"Well, don't commit suicide." Lestrade says firmly.

The reporter looks at him in shock. Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning "Daily Mail."

Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Again the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads "Wrong!" But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads: You know where to find me. SH

Looking exasperated, he puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters as he stands up. "Thank you."

Shortly afterwards, he and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.

"You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots." Sally proclaims.

"Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him." Lestrade counters.

On the other side of London Darcey looks down at her phone as it trills its text alert it reads: Thanks SH

Smiling to herself she responds just as her brother John left his therapists office: Your welcome Locky! :) DW.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

As John limped briskly through Russell Square park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walked past a slightly chubby man sitting on the wooden bench reading his newspaper, looking up from the paper the man stared after John, clearly recognizing him. He calls out. "John! John Watson!" John turning back to man as he stands up and hurries towards him, smiling. "Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together." Mike introduced himself.

"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike." John apologies to Mike taking Mike's offered hand and shakes it. "Hello, hi."

Grinning and gesturing to himself mike replied "Yeah, I know. I got fat!"

John trying to sound convincing "No." looking anywhere but at Mike when he said this.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?" Mike said before realizing his mistake.

"I got shot." John said awkwardly.

Both looking embarrassed Mike asked "Do you want to get some coffee and catch up?"

A little later they have bought take-away coffees and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park. Mike looks at John worriedly. Oblivious, John takes a sip from his coffee then looks across to his old friend.

"Are you still at Bart's, then?" John begins.

"Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" Mike joked. Laughing at the joke Mike continued "What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?"

"I can't afford London on an Army pension." John states.

"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know." Mike says thinking fondly of old memories.

"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson ..." John begins uncomfortably but stops. Mike awkwardly looks away and drinks his coffee. John switches his own cup to his right hand and looks down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he tries to control the tremor that has started. Mike looks round at him again.

"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike points out.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen!" John sarcastically says.

Mike continues "How about Darcey then?"

"Me live with my little sister, the same girl who dyed my hair pink Darcey." John jokes.

Laughing Mike shrugs "I dunno – get a flatshare or something?"

"Come on – who'd want me for a flatmate?" John Dismissing himself.

Mike chuckles thoughtfully.

John looks at Mike strangely "What?"

Mike just smiles and says "Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

"Who was the first?" John asks.

**AN: I can't believe how much is already done thanks for reading **

**Please Review**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

At the St. Bartholomews's hospital morgue. Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table, peering at the corpse. Sniffing the decaying body Sherlock asks "How fresh?"

The pathologist Molly Hooper walked around the table to stand in front of Sherlock and Darcey saying excitedly to Sherlock as if she had just won the lottery "Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

Zipping the bag up again, Sherlock straightens up, turning to Molly and smiles falsely. "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop."

Reaching into her purse Darcey pulled out the long black riding crop smacking it playfully into her palm.

Sherlock sighed "Fine…" he grumbled "You can go first."

Darcey smiling wickedly at Sherlock leaned over the corpse and kissed his cheek softly Molly looking at them in shock.

Not even fazed by Darceys actions Sherlock wiped the light pink lip-gloss on his cheek off with his scarf and got to work.

Pulling the man from the body bag, Sherlock hefted the body over his shoulder as Darcey cleared off the table. Laying the body back onto the table. Molly fled to the observation room next door, and watched as Darcey began to aggressively beat the body on the table flinching each time the crop hit the skin. As Darcey finally slowed down she handed the riding crop over to Sherlock straitening up, taking a deep breath "That was an amazing work out."

Smiling faintly at Darcey Sherlock began to flog the body repeatedly and violently with the riding crop. As Molly watched Sherlock her face turned from disgust to full on admiration.

Molly walks back into the room and as he finishes and straightens up, breathless, she goes over to him trying to make a joke. "So, bad day, was it?" laughing to herself.

Ignoring Molly's flirting Darcey pulled her notebook from her jacket and held it out to Sherlock.

Ignoring her banter Sherlock grabbed the notebook from her hands and starts writing in it speaking firmly "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Gathering her courage Molly begins "Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished ..."

Sherlock glances across to her as he is writing, then does a double-take and frowns at her. "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er, I refreshed it a bit." Molly nervously stutters.

She smiles at him flirtatiously. He gives her a long oblivious look, and then goes back to writing in the notebook. "Sorry, you were saying?"

Molly gazing at him intently stating firmly "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Sherlock tossed the notebook back to Darcey before replying "Black, two sugars, and for Darcey get her hot chocolate she doesn't need any more caffeine please. We'll be upstairs." Grabbing Darcey's hand and pulled her out of the room.

Leaving a very flustered, blushing Molly behind "Okay." She stutters.

Out in the hallway Darcey bursts out laughing "Did you see her face … Oh my god…! I can't breathe."

"What is so funny?" Sherlock burst breaking character not noticing at all Molly's obvious crush on him.

"You know what maybe Mycroft is right he is the smart one." Darcey joked calming herself as she walked ahead leaving Sherlock behind.

Sherlock stood there stunned at the response finally coming to the realization of the implications of the statement "Darcey he's not the smart one…" his voice fell onto deaf ears as Darcey just began to laugh hysterically once again his voice echoing through the halls as he yelled out. "DARCEY!"

In the lab Sherlock standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. Darcey sat still on the floor underneath the table hidden from view playing 'Flappy Bird' on her Iphone listening to her classical music loudly.

Mike knocked on the door lightly, opening the door as he was met with silence and entered the room.

Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again. John limping into the room, looking around at all the equipment commenting. "Well, bit different from my day." Neither of them seeing Darcey.

"You've no idea!" Mike chuckled.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Sherlock asked as he sat down in the stool.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike sighed as he checked his pockets

"I prefer to text." Sherlock continues not even looking up from his work.

"Sorry. It's in my coat."

"Er, here. Use mine." John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone.

"Oh. Thank you." Glancing briefly at Mike, Sherlock stands up and walks towards John.

Mike introduces him. "He's an old friend of mine, John Watson."

Sherlock not noticing the connection between the two Watsons reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowns. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type. "Sorry?" he says confused.

"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asks again not backing down.

He briefly raises his eyes to John's before looking back to the phone. John hesitates, then looks across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly. "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?" John begins.

Sherlock ignoring the question looks up as Molly comes into the room holding two mugs. "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He shuts down John's phone and hands it back as Molly brings the mug over to him. He looks closely at her as he takes the mug. Her mouth is paler again. "What happened to the lipstick?"

Smiling awkwardly at him "It wasn't working for me."Molly stuttered smiling.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." Sherlock responded tactlessly. Turning he walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug of coffee and grimacing at the taste.

"Okay." Molly replied stunned turning and heads back towards the door.

Sherlock tapped Darcey shoulder under the table; Darcey jumped banging her head off the top of the desk crying out in displeasure when her little bird slammed into the floor of the game.

"Sherlock…" Darcey groaned pulling out her headphones and glaring up at Sherlock.

"Darcey...?" John shouted in shock as he watched his little sister crawled up from behind the table.

"Hey Bro…" Darcey chirped as she grabbed her hot chocolate from Sherlock's hands.

"What… what are you doing here?" John asked shocked.

"I'm working" Darcey said slowly taking a gulp of her drink gagging as she swallowed the powdery drink.

"You're not a scientist though"

"No, but I am his assistant" Darcey argued pointing at Sherlock.

"So you have a brother" Sherlock drawled honestly looking shocked.

"Sherlock I've told you about him before"

"Ooh did you I must have deleted it" Sherlock trailed of before saying something suddenly "How do you feel about the violin?"

Darcey smiled at Sherlock finally realizing where he was going.

John looks round at Molly but she's on her way out the door. He glances at Mike who is still smiling smugly, and finally realizes that Sherlock is talking to him. "I'm sorry, what?" he asks confused.

Sherlock typing on a laptop keyboard as he talks "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." Looks round at John before continuing. "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."

He throws a hideously false smile at John, who looks at him blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike. "Oh, you ... you two told him about me?"

"Not a word." Mike and Darcey smile together.

Turning to Sherlock again "Then who said anything about flat mates?"

Sherlock picking up his greatcoat and putting it on grapping Darcey's blazer and tossing it over to her "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" He questions.

Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." Sherlock says walking towards John with Darcey trailing behind.

"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock said placing his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, he walks past John and heads for the door.

John turning to look at Sherlock and Darcey "Is that it?" he snapped.

Sherlock turns back from the door and strolls closer to John again leaving Darcey at the doorway. "Is that what?" Sherlock asked.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" John pointed out.

"Problem?" Sherlock said confused seeing nothing wrong with that statement.

John smiles in disbelief, looking across to Mike and Darcey for help, but his friend just continues to smile as he looks at Sherlock. And his sister herself looked like she had just eaten a pound of sugar. John turning back to the younger man began to point out the faults in this little arrangement. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

Sherlock looks closely at John for a moment before speaking. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly.

Looking at John smugly Sherlock continued "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and ushered the waving Darcey through before following, but then leans back into the room again. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street."

He click-winks at John, then looks round at Mike. "Afternoon." Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room.

As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him. Speaking the unspoken question "Yeah. He's always like that.

When John returned to his bedsit. Sitting down on the bed, he takes out his mobile phone and flicks through the menu to find Messages Sent. The last message reads "If brother has green ladder arrest brother. SH"

Puzzled, John looks down at the message for a long moment, then looks across to the table where his laptop is lying. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the table. Opening his laptop he opens up quest and types "Sherlock Holmes" into the search box.

**AN: This went well thanks for reading have a nice day and drop your comments in the box bellow!**

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_A woman wearing a pink overcoat and pink high-heeled shoes slowly reaches down with a trembling hand towards a clear glass bottle which is standing on the bare floorboards and which contains three large capsules. Her fingers close around the bottle and she slowly lifts it off the floor, her hand still shaking._

**AN: Sorry for the short chapter I didn't know how to combine it with Chapter 4**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

221B Baker Street. John limped down the street, leaning against his cane as he gazed at the brass numbers thoughtfully, and a taxi pulled up on the curb when he went to knock on the front door.

"Hello." Sherlock called, reaching in through the window of the cab and hands some money to the cab driver. "Thank you."

John turning towards Sherlock's voice as Sherlock walked over to him "Ah, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please." Shaking Johns hand.

Turning back to look at 221B John admired the building "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."

"Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour," Sherlock explained. "A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no." Sherlock smiled. "I ensured it."

John barely had time to comprehend this before the front door opened and Mrs. Hudson, a small elderly woman with a wide smile, greeted Sherlock cheerfully, "Sherlock, hello." Pulling him into an emnrace. Sherlock hugged her briefly.

Stepping back Sherlock presented John to her. "Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson."

"Hello." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"How do?" John smiled kindly.

Mrs. Hudson gesturing John inside "Come in."

"Thank you." John replied as he passed.

"Shall we?" Sherlock said as he follow John inside.

"Yeah." Mrs. Hudson closing the door smiled .

Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs. As John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. John follows him in and looks around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John began.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock looks around the flat happily. "So I went straight ahead and moved in," he said at the same time as John said, "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out."

John pauses, embarrassed, as he realizes what Sherlock was saying. "So this is all ..." John cringed.

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock says walks across the room and makes a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he puts them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi tool knife into them.

"Is the apocalypse upon us or Sherlock actually cleaning?" Darcey joked startling the two men as she stood in the doorway. "John you better get used to cleaning because he leaves chaos wherever he goes." Darcey continued as she walked into the room and sank into the leather chair near the fire place.

"Darcey…" John started clearly worried gulping "Are you… also his flat mate?" John cringing away as if expecting her to explode.

"No…" Darcey started as John interrupted her.

"Ooh thank god!" Clearly happy.

"As I was saying" Darcey drawled slowly looking down at her nails as she continued. "I don't live with Sherlock, but I do live in 221A it's the flat above this one so I visit frequently."

"ooh no…" John paled looking anywhere but into the eyes of the devil noticing something on the mantelpiece and lifts his cane to point at it and stated the obvious. "That's a skull."

"And this is a chair" Darcey said slowly as she made fun of her brother stroking her arm rests.

Ignoring Darceys joke Sherlock cracked one of his own "Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' ..."

Mrs. Hudson has followed Darcey into the room. She picks up a cup and saucer as Sherlock takes off his greatcoat and scarf. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

Darcey snorted at the implication of the statement.

"Of course we'll be needing two." John said stunned.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." Mrs. Hudson started, dropping her voice to a whisper by the end of the sentence "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

John looks across to Sherlock, ignoring his sister as she burst out laughing as if expecting him to confirm that he and John are not involved in that way but Sherlock appears oblivious to what's being insinuated.

"Thanks Mrs. H you just made my day" Darcey choked out during her laughter falling from the chair.

Smiling at Darcey Mrs. Hudson realized something "Darcey I'm sorry I completely forgot about you. I just assumed…" Darcey stopped laughing at the unspoken implication but doesn't respond.

Mrs. Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made."

As she goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up, John walks over to one of the two armchairs, plumps up a cushion on the chair and then drops heavily down into it. He looks across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little.

"I looked you up on the internet last night."

Sherlock turned around to him "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." John stated calmly.

Sherlock smiled smugly "What did you think?" ignoring Darceys charades to pop his ego.

John throws him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look. Sherlock looks hurt. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock proving his point.

"How?" John asked confused.

Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading the newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

Sherlock walks over to the window of the living room as a car pulls up outside interrupting Mrs. Hudson. "Four.

Sherlock looks down at the car as someone gets out of it. The vehicle is a police car with its lights flashing on the roof. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asked stunned.

Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade trots up the stairs and comes into the living room.

"Where?" Sherlock quickly said before Lestrade said anything.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade said calmly.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Sherlock questioned.

"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade peaked Sherlock's interest.

"Yeah." Sherlock nodded.

"This one did. Will you come?" Lestrade continued.

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson."

Both Sherlock and Darcey grimaced at the mention of him, while John was completely baffled by the exchange. "Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock said.

"Well, he won't be your assistant." Lestrade pointed out.

"No Darcey's my assistant." Sherlock argued.

"Will you come?" Lestrade sighed.

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." He sighed.

Looking round at John, Darcey and Mrs. Hudson for a moment, he turns and hurries off down the stairs. Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily. "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

Picking up his scarf and coat he starts to put them on as he heads for the kitchen throwing Darceys blazer at her head as he passed who quickly jumped to her feet and put it on practically skipping with joy as she waited for Sherlock. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." She reminded him.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

Grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, Sherlock opens the kitchen door ushered Darcey through and disappeared from view. Mrs. Hudson watching Darcey disappear down the stairs. "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same."

John grimaces at her repeated implication that Darcey and Sherlock are an item.

Looking to John when she continued "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell.

John looks uncomfortable.

Mrs. Hudson turning towards the door "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

John shouting loudly "Damn my leg!" His response was instinctive and he is immediately apologetic as Mrs. Hudson turns back to him in shock. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ..." He bashes his leg with his cane.

Mrs. Hudson sympathized "I understand, dear; I've got a hip."Turning back towards the door again.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." John called over his shoulder.

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em." John added.

"Not your housekeeper!"

John picked up the newspaper which Mrs. Hudson put down and now he looks at the article reporting Beth Davenport's apparent suicide. Next to a large photograph of Beth is a smaller one showing the man who just visited the flat and identifying him as D.I. Lestrade. Before he can read on, Sherlock's voice interrupts him and John looks up and sees him and his sister smiling knowingly at him standing at the living room door.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." Sherlock drawled.

"Yes." John states as he gets to his feet and turns towards Sherlock as he comes back into the room again.

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes," John said quietly. "Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh God, yes." John fevertly says.

Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John out of the room and down the stairs Darcey rolling her eyes at their actions as she follows. John calls out as he follows him down. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out.

"Are you all going out?" Mrs. Hudson inquired. Sherlock turned to face her with a wide grin.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Taking her by the shoulders, Sherlock pressed a kiss to Mrs. Hudson's cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She can't help but smile, though, as he turns away and heads for the front door again.

"Who cares about decent?" Sherlock cried. "The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

He walks out onto the street and hails an approaching black cab. As he shouts "Taxi!"

The taxi pulls up alongside and Sherlock, Darcey and John get into the back, then the car drives off again and heads for Brixton. They sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his Smartphone, Darcey with her phone hacks into the traffic grid giving them all green lights and John keeps stealing nervous glances at Sherlock across from Darcey. Finally Sherlock lowers his phone as he noticed the stares. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked.

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked back.

Darcey looked up from her phone as she watched her brothers attempts to deduce the great Sherlock Holmes.

John hesitated, "I would say private detective," he said slowly.

"But?"

" ... but the police don't go to private detectives." John continued.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job," Sherlock said proudly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult him," Darcey explained stealing Sherlock's thunder as he pouted.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John almost laughs.

"Ooh boy" Darcey sighed cutting herself from the conversation.

Sherlock throws him a look and begins to prove the point that he was not an amateur. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John asked the question that had been playing on his mind.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, you said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq," Sherlock explained at a hundred kilometers an hour loudly clicks the 'k' sound at the end of the final word.

"You said I had a therapist." John said quietly.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." John and Darcey answered together.

Harry Watson

From Clara

Xxx

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking," Sherlock continued.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked disbelievingly.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see – you were right," Sherlock told John handing him back his phone slight hints of a smile on his face.

"I was right?" John frowned "Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock concluded.

He looks out of the side window, biting his lip nervously as he awaits John's reaction Darcey hand rested onto Sherlocks giving it a squeeze as if telling him that everything would be ok.

"That ... was amazing." John completing in shock.

Sherlock looks round, apparently so surprised that he can't even reply for the next four seconds and stared at the two beaming faces. "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John replied.

"I knew you two would get along" Darcey smiled.

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock said softly.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" Sherlock said, smiling briefly at John and Darcey before turning back to look out of the window as the journey continues.

BRIXTON. When the cab arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock, Darcey and John get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked.

John and Darcey exchanged looks as he said "Harry and me don't get on, never have just ask Darcey. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

Sherlock looking impressed with himself "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

Darcey finished for John "And Harry's short for Harriet."

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks saying under his breath. "Harry's your sister."

John continuing onwards "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

Sherlock furiously, through gritted teeth "Sister!"

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John repeated.

Sherlock exasperated grabbed Darcey's hand, starting to walk again towards the yellow tape mumbling to himself. "There's always something."

"You know I can't believe this is the fact that when you had first met me you had deduced all of this before. I bet now you wish you didn't delete it" Darcey giggled.

**AN: This is going well thank you my amazing readers tell me your opinions and questions **

**Please Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

As the three approached the police tape where they are met by the evil witch Sergeant Donovan.

"Hello, freaks." Donovan sneered at Darcey and Sherlock.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock remarked dryly, as though he put up with this very greeting on a daily basis.

"Why?"

"We were invited," Darcey said, as though speaking to a child.

"Why?"

"I don't know maybe he wants us to take a look." Darcey snarled sarcasm dripping from her tone.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" Donovan sneered.

Sherlock lifting the tape and ducking underneath holding it up Darcey as she followed behind him "Always, Sally." Sherlock says taking a breath in through his nose he continues. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't ..." Donovan stuttered before looking at John as he began to lift the tape "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Darceys brother Doctor Watson." Sherlock says turning to John introducing him to the witch herself. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan." His voice drips with sarcasm. "Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" Donovan smiled believing that he was lying turning to John. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited…" John cut in.

"No" Sherlock replied lifting the tape for him.

As John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth. "Freak's here. Bringing him in."

Donovan leads the three towards the house. Sherlock and Darcey looked all around the area and at the ground as they approach. As they reach the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson." Sherlock greeted the man in a sterile blue suit. "Here we are again."

"It's a crime scene," Anderson glared, "I do not want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Darcey taking in a deep breath through her nose "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out." Anderson sneered, " Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told us that." Sherlock added.

"My deodorant?" Anderson asked confused.

Sherlock with a quirky expression on his face joked "It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" Anderson proclaimed.

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Darcey giggled.

Anderson looks round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffs pointedly. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"

Anderson turning back and pointing at him angrily "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."

"I'm not implying anything." He heads past Donovan towards the front door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." Sherlock turns back. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan stare at Sherlock in horror as he smiled smugly, then turns and goes into the house pulling the laughing Darcey behind him. John walks past Donovan, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then follows Sherlock inside. Sherlock leads them into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items.

"You'll need to wear one of these," Sherlock handed John a sterile blue suit.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked, coming down the stairs to them, eyeing John.

"He's with me." Sherlock said as he took his gloves off.

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with me."

"He's also my Brother" Darcey smiled at Lestrade.

John took his jacket off and picks up a coverall. Looking over at Sherlock and Darcey as they both simply pick up a pair of latex gloves. "Aren't you two gonna put one on?"

Sherlock and Darcey just looks at him sternly. John shakes his head as if to say, 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!'

"So where are we?" Sherlock ignored him, turning to Lestrade.

Lestrade simply picked up another pair of latex gloves "Upstairs."

Lestrade lead them up a circular staircase. He and John wearing the coveralls together with blue cotton coverings over their shoes, and latex gloves. Sherlock and Darcey just simply pulling on the latex gloves as they went up the stairs. "I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer." Sherlock casually remarked.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her," he opened the door, allowing Sherlock, Darcey and John into the room where the body had been found. There was a blonde woman, dressed all in bright pink, lying face down on the floor of the dirty disused room, a scratching in the wood before her.

Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John looks at the woman's body and his face fills with pain and sadness. The four of them stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade. "Shut up." He snaps.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade frowns.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Darcey snapped.

Lestrade and John exchange a surprised look as Sherlock and Darcey steps slowly forward until they reaches the side of the corpse. Their attention is immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards by the woman's left hand is the word "Rache". His eyes flick to her fingernails where the index and middle nails are broken and ragged at the ends with the nail polish chipped, in stark comparison to her other nails which are still immaculate. The woman's index finger rests at the bottom of the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. Sherlock makes an instant deduction:  
left handed

He looks back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into his mind:  
RACHE  
German (n.) revenge

Instantly he shakes his head in a tiny dismissive movement and the suggestion disappears. He looks at the carved word again and overlays the five letters with a clearer type. Next to the 'e' a rapid progression of letters appear and disappear as he tries to complete the word, then the correct letter settles into place Forms the word:  
Rachel

He squats down beside the body and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts his hand again to look at his fingers…

wet.

He reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspects his glove…

dry.

Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, he moves up to the collar of her coat and runs his fingers underneath it before once again looking at his fingers…

wet.

Reaching into his pocket he takes out a small magnifier, clicks it open and closely inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ...  
clean

... then the gold earring attached to her left ear ...  
clean

... and then the gold chain around her neck ...  
clean

... before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flag a different message to him…

dirty

Sherlock blinks as a rapid succession of conclusions appear in front of his eyes:  
Married  
Unhappily married  
Unhappily married 10+ years

Carefully Sherlock works the wedding ring off the woman's finger and holds it up to look at the inside of the ring. While the outside of the ring is still showing  
dirty  
the inside registers as  
clean

As Sherlock lowers the ring and slides it back onto the woman's finger, he has already reached a conclusion about the ring:  
regularly removed

Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looks down at her and makes his final deduction about her:  
serial adulterer

Sherlock smiles slightly in satisfaction looking over to Darcey as he notes that she had come to a similar deduction.

"Got anything?" Lestade asked breaking the silence.

"Not much." Sherlock says. Standing up, he takes the gloves off and then gets his mobile phone from his pocket and begins typing on it.

Anderson leaning casually against the doorway "She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something …" As he has been speaking, Sherlock has walked quickly towards the door and now begins to close it in Anderson's face.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock said sarcastically slamming the door shut, turning and walks back into the room. On his phone, he has called up a menu for "UK Weather". The menu offers five options:  
Maps  
Local  
Warnings  
Next 24 hrs  
7 day forecast  
Selecting the Maps option.

So she's German?" Lestrade frowned.

"Of course she's not," Sherlock scoffed, "She's from out of town though. Intended to stay in London for one night before…" He smiles smugly as he apparently finds the information he needed "... before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious." Sherlock Pocketing his phone.

"Sorry," John shook his head, "Obvious?"

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock ignored him and turned to John, "Dr. Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?" John blinked.

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

"We have a whole team right outside…" Lestrade began.

"They won't work with me," Sherlock waved him off.

"I'm breaking every rule letting YOU TWO in here…"

"Yes..." Sherlock smirked, "Because you need us."

Lestrade stares at him for a moment, and then lowers his eyes helplessly." Yes, I do. God help me."

"John come on!" Darcey called out.

"Hm?" John looks up from the body to Sherlock, Darcey and then turns his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.

Lestrade responding a little tetchily "Oh, do as he says. Help yourself."He turns and opens the door, going outside calling out. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

Sherlock, Darcey and John walk over towards the body. Sherlock squats down on one side of it and John painfully lowers himself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself.

"Well?" John looked at Sherlock, "What am I doing here?

"Helping me make a point," Sherlock replied softly.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent," John remarked.

" Yeah, well, this is more fun." Darcey countered.

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead…"

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock said.

As Lestrade comes back into the room and stands just inside the doorway, John drags his other leg down into a kneeling position and then leans forward to look more closely at the woman's body. He puts his head close to hers and sniffs, then straightens a little before lifting her right hand and looking at the skin. He kneels up and looks across to Sherlock. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers." Sherlock muttered.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?" John started.

"Sherlock" Lestrade called. "two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."

Sherlock standing up once again assisting Darcey to her feet as John struggles to get to his was about to begin when he was interrupted by Darcey "Sherlock it's my turn.." smiling innocently at Lestrade clearing her throat "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly disgusting shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Lestrade frowned.

John took a quick look around the room but can't see a suitcase anywhere.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade groaned.

Getting impatient Sherlock takes over "Her wedding ring," he pointed absently at the body, "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. The inside is shinier than the outside. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands so who DOES she remove her rings for? Not ONE lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that long so more likely a string of them."

"Brilliant," John blinked, before noticing the others looked unamused, "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade questions.

"It's obvious too, isn't it?" Sherlock looked at the two men, to see them staring blankly.

"It's not obvious to me." John mumbled.

Sherlock pausing as he looks at the other two and makes a joke "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."He turns back to the body and continues his deduction. " Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He gets his phone from his pocket and shows to the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today's weather for the southern part of Britain. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John smiled.

Sherlock turning to him and speaking in a low voice "D'you know you do that out loud?"

"Yep ever since he was a kid he has no filter" Darcey laughed.

"Sorry. I'll shut up." John commented.

"No, it's..." Sherlock muttered, "Fine."

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestade asked.

Darcey and Sherlock spinning around in a circle to look around the room asked together in unison "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade eyeing the scratching.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German," he replied sarcastically, "Of course she was writing 'Rachel,' no other word it can be. Why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Darcey answered this one pointing down to the body, where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg "Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night."

Sherlock squats down by the woman's body and examines the backs of her legs more closely." Now, where is it? What have you done with it?' Even though he had already looked around once, he began looking again, moving past Lestrade to look behind the door then through a hole in the opposite wall. Johnna was wondering if there would be a suitcase in the building at all, especially since Lestrade continuously asked why Sherlock mentioned a case to begin with.

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pausing in their search, Sherlock tensed, peering toward him. "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case." He insisted, "There was never any suitcase."

"Suitcase!" Sherlock and Darcey bolted out of the room, crying out to the rest of the team still examining the rest of the building for evidence. John watched them practically fling themselfs into the banister to lean over and shout downstairs. "Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade shouted after him, dropping his arms and following him out into the passage.

"But they take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills, themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Darcey insisted.

John made her way out of the room, standing just behind Lestrade and catching the muttered response to Sherlock's outer musing. "Right, yeah, thanks. And?"

"It's murder. All of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're serial killings." Holmes was looking more and more excited as he spoke, repeating something similar to the dance he had made in the flat when he first received the invitation to the scene. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. Love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case, did she eat it?" Darcey indicated the room with an impatient wave of her hand. "Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John contributed, though the moment he said it, he glanced back at the body in the other room.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair!" He waved his hands around his head. "She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes! She'd never leave any hotel with her hair still looking…Oh…Oh!" Something dawned on him, illuminating his face as he grinned.

"Sherlock, what is it, what?"

"Serial killers, always hard. Have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!"

Without warning, Sherlock dashed down the stairs, rounding about to the next landing without sparing them another glance but he certainly had plenty more to say. He fired it all off almost as quickly as his feet hit the stairs. "Oh, were done waiting. Look at her, really look! Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!

Lestrade went to the railing, leaning over it. "Of course, yeah… but what mistake?!" He finished off with a shout after him; John peered over the edge as well in time to see Sherlock pop back into sight, grasping the rail and glaring back up at them.

"PINK!" They snapped back up the stairs then dashed off again.

Forgotten by everyone else, John hesitates on the landing for a moment and then slowly starts making his way down the stairs. A couple more police officers hurry up and one of them bumps against him, throwing him off-balance and making him lurch heavily against the banisters. The man hurries on without a word, although his colleague does at least look apologetically at John as he passes. John regains his balance and continues down the stairs.

Shortly afterwards he has removed his coverall and put his jacket back on, and now walks out onto the street. Looking all around, he can see no sign of Sherlock. He walks towards the police tape, still looking around. Donovan, standing at the tape, sees him. "They're gone."

"Who, Sherlock Holmes and Darcey?" John asked.

"Yeah, they just took off. He does that and she follows." Donovan said stiffly.

"Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it."

"Right."Looking around the area again thoughtfully, unsure what to do "Right ... Yes." He turns to Donovan again. " Sorry, where am I?"

"Brixton."

"Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er ... well ..." he looks down awkwardly at his walking stick "... my leg."

"Er ..." she steps over to the tape and lifts it for him "... try the main road."

John ducking under the tape "Thanks."

"But you're not his friend."

John turns back towards her.

"He doesn't _have_ friends except Darcey. So who _are_ you?"

"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him."

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy. Try to convince your sister."

"Why?"

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there." She sneered.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored."

Lestrade calling from the entrance of the house "Donovan!"

Donovan turned and calling back "Coming." She turns back towards John as she walks towards the house. _"_Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

John watches her go for a moment, then turns and begins to limp off down the road.

**AN: Hey thanks for reading from now on I'm going to call Lestrade Greg now **

**Please review!**


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